


Take You Under

by HolyWater



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek is Stiles' Anchor, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyWater/pseuds/HolyWater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles nods, his hands skating across Derek’s back. “Does it… Does it ever get better? God I—Does the feeling—”</p>
<p>“No,” Derek whispers against his head. “It never gets better. You get use to it, but… it doesn't get better.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take You Under

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this before the last three episodes of 3-b so no 'real' spoilers. 
> 
> I based this story off of the song Lick The Palm Of The Burning Handshake by: Zola Jesus.

_When you say you don't see the red in my eyes_

_Do you really want to bring the fire outside?_

_I don't want you to go_

_Lose my eyes I'll never show_

 

The sun is shining brightly across the sky and reflecting against the snow covered ground, contrasting against Stiles mood, making him cringe at the sight of the crystal-like brightness reflecting off of the surrounding snow and catching in his eyes. Derek stands next to him, face stoic and firm, the collar of his black winter jacket raised against his neck, giving him almost a mean, superior look.

Stiles notices that his hands are clenched at his sides and reaches over to tangle their fingers together before Derek’s claws release and break the skin of his hand and he starts bleeding. The only acknowledgment he gets is a side glance and a slight squeeze of his hand.

Stiles can hardly concentrate on the words the minister is saying, his voice solemn and full of sorrow. Stiles does not believe he knows what actual sorrow feels like—what it tastes like. He leans in closer to Derek, to the feeling of a warm, solid weight almost against him. Derek’s thumb starts to trace along the skin of his knuckles as if feeling his burst of sudden stress, and Stiles tries to breathe through it. He closes his eyes and counts to ten. Maybe a couple of times… When he opens his eyes, some people are clearing out and mumbling to one another, their heads bent down in respect.

Stiles stays rooted on the spot, legs feeling like lead, glad that Derek doesn’t seem to want to be going anywhere anytime soon. His thumb is still rubbing against the skin of his hand, and Stiles grips it tighter, the feeling anchoring him.

His dad is suddenly in front of both him and Derek, and Stiles sees his eyes shoot down to their interlocked hands before looking back up just as quickly. Stiles is suddenly afraid that Derek will let go of him, leave him standing alone, but he just continues to rub his thumb along Stiles’ skin without any hesitation or contrition.

“Stiles, I’m gonna be working through night shift.” The sheriff says.

Stiles nods. “Okay.”

The sheriff stares at him with sad eyes before placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you gonna be alright alone?”

Stiles doesn’t know how to answer that because he’s not alright. He’s not alright and he can’t lie to his dad because he promised he wouldn’t do that anymore. He promised.

“He’ll be staying with me.” Derek’s voice says to the side.

Stiles and his dad both turn to stare at him, surprised. Actually, the sheriff looks less surprised than Stiles does.

“If that’s alright…” Derek hesitantly adds, looking at Stiles.

He nods.

His dad sighs, hand rubbing across his face, but nods nevertheless. He turns to leave, but pauses, putting a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Take care of him.”

Stiles can feel his face heat up, but Derek just nods.

His dad leaves and the only other people at the graveyard are Chris Argent and what looks to be a few of his relatives. Stiles looks around for Scott, but doesn’t see him anywhere.

“He left awhile ago.” Derek says as if reading his mind. “Right after the sermon ended. He’s in the woods.”

“Is he okay?” Stiles asks.

“He just needs to run for awhile. He’s fine.” Derek answers.

Stiles came with his dad, so when Derek pulls him along to his car, he doesn’t hesitate. When he glances back one last time, he sees the gravestone clearly:

ALLISON ARGENT

LOVING DAUGHTER AND LEADER

Stiles looks away before reading the rest. He’s had too many bad experiences with the dead.

~~

They pull up to the loft and Derek turns off the car, emitting silence. They sit there for a minute, maybe only a few seconds, before Derek turns his head toward him.

“Stiles—”

“I wasn’t even close to her.” Stiles interrupts, twisting his fingers in his lap. “Not really… Not like—not like Scott.”

“She was still your friend.” Derek says, quietly. “She was pack.”

Stiles nods to himself, sniffling slightly, still looking at his hands.

Derek opens his door and climbs out, walking over to Stiles’ side, and opening the passenger side door. Stiles finally looks up at him and his eyes are rimmed red, a few tears sliding down his cheek. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Derek’s so familiar with that smile, but not with Stiles.

“Come on,” He probes slightly, reaching his hand out. Stiles takes it and Derek leads them up the stairs to the loft. He makes Stiles have a seat on the couch and gently wipes away the slightly drying tears against the skin of his cheeks and end of his jaw.

“Do you want anything?” Derek asks, quietly.

Stiles shakes his head. “No, thanks, I just need to sit for awhile.”’

Derek nods and Stiles closes his eyes, and concentrates on the darkness; not on the tight, squeezing, feeling buried deep down in the center of his chest. Not the shame, the hurt, the sting. He closes his eyes…

He dreams of Allison dying again and again and again and again and—it’s becoming too much. He can’t breathe. He can’t help her. He can’t even struggle against the bonds that are tied against him. She keeps staring at him, her eyes shining. He wants to die. He wants to die too. Why can’t he die? Why can’t he die again and again and again and again and—

He surges up, gasping, crying, tears rolling down his face in warm, salty wake. Where is he? Why isn’t he home? Where—?

“Stiles?”

He whips around, still gasping, eyes finding Derek coming down the staircase. “Derek? Wha—”

Suddenly Derek is in front of him, warm arms wrapping themselves around his waist, breath hot against his cheek. Stiles finds himself clutching him back, trying to calm his breathing and crying, anchoring himself on the soft words of comfort against his ear. _It’s okay. It was a dream. You’re safe. You’re safe._

He’s safe.

“I’m sorry,” He manages to say, voice tight and wrecked. “I’m sorry,”

He hears Derek rumble in his ear, his body vibrating slightly against Stiles’ own. “Don’t you ever be sorry, you hear me? You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. Nothing,”

Stiles is about to say it again, but he catches himself and ends up just clutching the back of Derek’s t-shirt more securely in his fists.

Derek pulls him tighter to his chest and leans down to press a kiss against Stiles forehead. Stiles eyes shut tight and he buries his face against Derek’s chest, breathing him in.

“It’s alright.” Derek mumbles against his hair, chest rumbling, as he presses another soothing kiss on the top of his head.

Stiles nods, his hands skating across Derek’s back. “Does it… Does it ever get better? God I—Does the feeling—”

“No,” Derek whispers against his head. “It never gets better. You get use to it, but… it doesn’t get better.”

Stiles doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but eventually Derek pulls back, telling him he’s going to make tea to calm his nerves.

“It helps me sometimes.” Derek states, leading the way through the moonlit room to the kitchen. He turns on a small light over the stove, causing a soft glow to emanate around them. Stiles climbs up onto the counter, gripping the tile until his knuckles turn white. Derek busies himself by the stove, placing a kettle on top and grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard.

“My mom use to make tea.” Stiles says suddenly.

Derek looks at him, surprise clear in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything.

Stiles continues, “She hated coffee. I remember when dad made her try it one time, and she almost puked.” He laughs out loud. “Her face…” He pauses caught up in the small glimpse of his memory and when he looks back at Derek, a small smile rests across his mouth. “She made me tea when I had a nightmare. ‘Stiles,’ she’d say, ‘there’s nothing out there that can get you while I’m here.’”

Derek stares at him. “She was right.”

“Yeah, she was.”

The kettle starts steaming, and Derek turns back toward the stove, turning the fire off and pouring the hot water in the mugs with tea bags. Stiles eyes catch the time on the clock over the stove, reading two-thirty.

“Shit, it’s late. I woke you up.”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s fine, I was having trouble sleeping too.”

Derek hands Stiles a mug, and he wraps his fingers around it, warmth seeping through his hands.

“Thank you,” Stiles says. He breathes in the smell of it and smiles, the memory of his mom behind his eyes. “I haven’t had tea in… a long time.”

“Laura use to make it for us.” Derek says, standing still in front of Stiles. “In New York we use to travel to all these different cafés and try all of sorts of teas. One time we forgot money and we had to sneak out of the back.”

Stiles smiles, blowing on his tea. “Dine and dash. Me and Scott did that before.”

Silence endures, but it’s not awkward like Stiles always expects it to be with him and Derek. Usually he’s always talking for the two of them. When they first met, Stiles only remembers filing every bit of silence with snide remarks toward Derek’s staring and general creepiness. Derek made harmless bodily threats now and then, but they never actually talked. Now, Stiles is glad for the silence, the only sound the hum of the dim light and the sipping of tea.

When Stiles finishes, his whole body feels warm, his skin soft, and his eyelids heavy.

“Thank you,” He tells Derek again, because, really, he deserves endless thanks when it comes down to it.

Derek says nothing, typically, taking his cup to the sink with his own and Stiles smiles, slipping off of the counter, his body a humming.

Derek turns off the light. “You’re sleeping upstairs.”

Definitely not a question.

Stiles follows Derek, through the living room, up the stairs, in the hallway… When suddenly, Stiles realizes something. Derek cares for him. He gave Stiles tea at two o’clock in the morning and not only did he enjoy it, but it made him feel… nice.

He freezes, halting mid-step, and takes a deep breath. Derek turns around, eyebrow raised, but before he can say anything, Stiles reaches out, placing his hands on his shoulders and kissing him. It’s only for a second, a brief meeting of lips, but he feels Derek go rigid, lips unmoving. Stiles pulls back, enough to look him in the eyes, nervousness creeping up his spine. They stare at each other for what feels like infinity. It is, maybe, but then Derek blinks and his hands are cupping around Stiles face, and they’re kissing again. They’re kissing.

Stiles presses back, fingers curling in the folds of Derek’s soft t-shirt, a soft sigh releasing from his mouth. Derek rumbles deep in the back of his throat, and then there’s tongue and Stiles can’t think because Derek Hale’s tongue is in his mouth.

Derek’s hands move to his waist, and Stiles’ wrap themselves around his neck. He’s starting to feel desperate, needy. They’re both sighing and moaning, the sounds molding together in perfect melody, and Stiles really wants to know why he didn’t figure this out sooner.

He reaches down, his hand finding Derek’s ass, and he squeezes, causing Derek to groan, biting his bottom lip. Derek’s lips are sliding down his jaw to his neck and he can breathe properly again, but Derek bits down on his pale white skin, and Stiles moans, hands finding themselves in his hair, tugging and pushing against Derek’s scalp.

“Derek,” He breathes.

Derek leans back, breathing hard, and rests his forehead against Stiles. “You didn’t do that just because… because of today?”

Stiles sucks in a breath. “Fuck, no, I wouldn’t… I want this. You… I want you. For awhile, if that’s okay?”

Derek smiles. “For awhile,”

Stiles kisses him again, shortly, but hopes is full of promise. “Yeah, that’s nice.”

Maybe for awhile.

 

 

 

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